ELEVATION OF THE CAMP 267 



the cloudless sky was that intense azure seen only from 

 these elevated regions. The snowy mountains looked 

 very brilliant in the bright sunshine, and contrasted 

 beautifully with the intense blue above. A delicious 

 breeze blew up the valley, and my enjoyment was com- 

 plete as in the evening I went on the back path a couple 

 of miles down the valley, less for game than to meet the 

 post, for which I was getting impatient. 



Snow again during the night. Gerard, in his book on 

 Kanawar and this portion of the Himalayas, says that the 

 fall of the Baspa river is 250 feet per mile, and that 

 Chitkul village is 11,400 feet high. Suancho, where I 

 was camped ten miles above the village, would therefore 

 be 13,900 feet above sea level, and the Gugerang Pass, 

 which I intended to cross, not less than 18,000 feet. 

 About 5 P.M. I heard a shepherd's whistle, and, rushing 

 out of the tent to have a look at the new arrivals, 

 found the Jadhs (as the people of the Baspa valley call 

 the Tibetans), with a flock of sheep, had arrived from their 

 country. Anparh had told me they could not possibly 

 be here for twelve days at least. There were eleven men 

 and four hundred sheep. I sent up two of the coolies 

 to bring one of the Tibetans down to the camp, but none 

 would come. When all the sheep had passed, the two 

 last men ventured down, but it was difficult to carry on 

 a conversation. The Balti coolies managed a few words 

 in their own language, but the result was not satisfactory. 

 One of them was a hideous old man with his two front 

 teeth projecting over his lips ; the other was a decent and 

 very intelligent-looking young man, much more reserved 

 and dignified than his companion. The latter asked for 

 a smoke, and we gave him some tobacco in a chilam 

 (Indian pipe), which he said was good. They were 

 nine days from their village, the name of which 1 could 



